<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Moment of Peace (Dune One-shot) by Celestia_ships_reylo</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022678">A Moment of Peace (Dune One-shot)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestia_ships_reylo/pseuds/Celestia_ships_reylo'>Celestia_ships_reylo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alia needs a hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arrakis, Book 3: Children of Dune, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Duncan loves Alia, During Canon, F/M, Frank Herbert's Dune References, Hurt/Comfort, International Fanworks Day 2021, Loneliness, Mental Instability, Sad and Beautiful, Set 6 years before, Spice (Dune)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestia_ships_reylo/pseuds/Celestia_ships_reylo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the death of her brother, Alia has already dared the spice trance. Unable to achieve prescience, Alia feels any semblance of control beginning to slip through her fingers. The voices in her head have only gotten worse. If she cannot even control herself, what chance does she have of retaining control of the Imperium?</p><p>Duncan can see that Alia is falling apart at the seams, and does his best to ease the storm inside her, even if only for a moment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alia Atreides/Duncan Idaho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Moment of Peace (Dune One-shot)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alia paced her quarters silently, the daily assault of the voices in her head overwhelming her. <em>Peace is not for the pre-born, </em>she thought to herself with a sigh. <em>There is no peace for Abomination. </em>Up and down, up and down, her footsteps echoing the ceaseless pattern of phrases and admonitions of those who preceded her—those who would use her, manipulate her, <em>become</em> her. It was not new. Nothing was ever new when you had lived a thousand lives before birth. But the pain was never lessened, only increased, by the passing of time.</p><p>She reached back, loosening her bronze hair from their water rings, letting wavy golden strands of hair fall past her shoulders. It did nothing to relieve the mental pressure. Often, Alia had asked herself why the voices had gotten worse—why she had begun to near Abomination so much faster—after Paul had walked away into the desert unto death, a blind man’s water for Shai-Hulud. Perhaps it had been the stress of the Regency, thrust upon her after Chani’s death and the subsequent blindness and death of Muad'Dib, that had agitated her. Perhaps it was the responsibility of the twins, Leto and Ghamina, that burdened her. Regardless of the reason, the voices were louder, more intense now, three years after the birth of the twins.</p><p>Alia shook her head as she continued to pace, the exhortations and reprimands of those long dead creating a cacophony that drowned out her own thoughts. “Heed us,” they cried out, and she covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the sound. “I demand audience!” a voice rose above the others for a moment before succumbing to the noise of the chaos within her. “Abomination, Abomination,” the words rang in her head, echoes of the voice of her mother (<em>on</em><em> Caladan, not yet dead,</em> she reminded herself) and Bene Gesserit ancestors long returned to dust.</p><p>She had tried everything to ease her condition, to control her own life before any of the voices could. But the spice trance had done nothing for her. Prescience seemed beyond her. Even if she could see the future, as Paul had, how would that help her overcome these inner demons? She didn’t quite know. Chasing prescience didn’t make sense anymore, but it was the only way to feel she was in control of her own destiny. Of the Imperium. <em>A vain illusion,</em> Alia thought with a sigh.</p><p>Tiring of wasting energy, Alia paused by the window that looked out onto the Temple plaza. Leaning with her hands on the windowsill, she could see the sunset morphing the Arakeen sands, shadows and orange flames chasing each other over the dunes. Already, the changes Muad'Dib had brought to Arrakis could be clearly seen. Green was no longer a foreign color to the younger Fremen. Her blue-on-blue eyes reflected the receding sunlight, looking but not seeing. Staring out with only the effect of staring within. Alia did not like what she saw within herself. <em>Abomination</em>. The word crept up on her, chills going down her spine. She knew the feeling like the closest of enemies. The fear of herself. The fear of all those within who would make her their vessel. Who would have her succumb to possession.</p><p>With a deep breath, Alia recited the Litany Against Fear, silently and instinctively in her mind. <em>I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.</em> There was no comfort in the words for her anymore, only a temporary ritual calm. The Litany could not keep the curse of the pre-born from haunting her.</p><p>She knew Leto and Ghamina faced the same curse. The same <em>Abomination</em>. But they did not seem to suffer as she did. Was it because she had dared the spice trance? Was it because they were yet children? Ah, but they were not children. Like Alia, they had never been. Full awareness before birth left no room for innocence, for the bliss of honest ignorance. They were, and had always been, adults trapped in the form of a child. However, although afflicted with the same pre-born condition, Alia suffered the worst.</p><p>Duncan Idaho entered the room to find Alia hunched over by the window, strands of wavy bronze hair stained shimmering gold fallen over her face. He observed that it was an uncharacteristic posture for her. He did not need Mentat computation to know that something was troubling his wife.</p><p>“Subakh ul kuhar?” he asked softly, using the Fremen tongue she knew so well, hoping to comfort her in her distress. She didn’t turn to him. <em>He asks if I am well. I am never well. How can I be well if I have a thousand others in my head who have long been dead, battling over the rights to my consciousness? How can I be well, when I am a slave to the past with no access to the future?</em></p><p>“Alia, please do not fight me,” Duncan implored, moved to compassion by the stress he could see in the stiffness of her barely perceptible movements. The Regency had done her no favors.</p><p>“If I wished to fight you, Duncan, I would. And I would win,” she said solemnly, turning to him. But she could no longer hide the tears in her eyes. Not from him.</p><p>“Yes, you would, Alia. For I could never hurt you.” It was a gentle lie between lovers, he knew. As a Mentat, his loyalty lay with House Atreides, not necessarily with Alia alone. There was always the possibility (the cold calculation he had been trained in told him this) that he would have to stand against Alia for the protection of the twins. Overwhelmed with her affliction, who knew what Alia might do to retain her power, her sole semblance of control.</p><p>The glowglobes behind them began to emit a soft yellow light as the purple darkness began to set over Arrakis. The blue of her eyes shone a tantalizing emerald in the reflection of the light. Duncan could see her teary, introspective gaze giving her the appearance of one who is lost in the desert, driven mad by the expanse of the unending sand. This madness—this <em>possession</em>—was what the Bene Gesserit so feared in the pre-born, Idaho knew. But he, who knew Alia in a way that no one else did, felt no revulsion toward her condition. Only compassion. Only a shared pain that trespassed Mentat data computation. The way he felt about Alia could not be explained by patterns of logic or absolutes. <em>Love is never logical,</em> Duncan thought to himself. <em>It can be processed as a factor in any situation, but its effects on individuals are unpredictable. Beautiful. Dangerous.</em></p><p>He stepped forward, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. Temporarily doing without the subtle restraints of her prana-bindu discipline, Alia allowed herself to be vulnerable. But the internal attack gave her no repose. “The blood of Muad'Dib shall be spilled upon the sand!” a voice cried out within her, an involuntary shudder going through her lithe frame at the words.</p><p>“Alia? What troubles you?” Duncan asked, taking her hands in his own. Her gaze broke with his and she proceeded to stare at his hands, clearly avoiding his question.</p><p>“Please, Alia. Do not shut yourself away. Ish yara al-ahdab hadbat-u,” he said, knowing she would dislike the phrase, but knowing it to be true. “Let me help you, beloved.”</p><p><em>“A hunchback does not see his own hunch,”</em>she heard Duncan say. Alia frowned. That was not the issue here. She could see her own problem—she could see the sand-cloud of Abomination rising within her. The thing that filled her with fear was that she did not know the solution. The terror that grasped at her heart was the feeling of control slipping through her fingers, slowly but constantly. Control of the Imperium—and control of her very self.</p><p>“Is it the spice?” Duncan asked after a moment of silence that spoke of hidden trials that would be left unsaid. Alia’s eyes shot up at him, a mixture of both unwilling acknowledgment of the truth and anger at the unbidden accusation.</p><p>“If I must die for the sake of the Regency, to preserve the Imperium...what would you do?” Alia asked suddenly, deftly but far too obviously changing the subject. He could hear the faint vestiges of the Voice in the overtones of her words. He could not recognize it as a Bene Gesserit would, but he had been around enough of them to understand what it sounded like. Alia was steering the conversation away from the spice, circumventing his observation. <em>She won’t admit that the spice trance has made it worse, </em>Duncan noted with a sigh.</p><p>But the full meaning behind her words assaulted his senses. He forced himself not to function as a Mentat, not to mentally compute all the scenarios in which such a sacrifice on Alia’s part would be possible, likely, even...necessary. He forced himself not to picture the blood on the sand. Instead he only said, comfortingly, “Kull mansuj manfud.” <em>All weaving has an end.</em> “But yours is not here yet, beloved.”</p><p>She knew he was not carrying out his function as a human-computer. He was giving her empty words forged by love rather than by memory or perception. A sudden resurgence of the shrieks of her ancestors, clamoring for a place in her awareness, made her cry out. She sounded like a feeble child who had been wounded. However, her wounds were invisible. Her sickness incurable. Alia covered her ears with hands again, her eyes tightly closed against the onslaught of inner presences.</p><p>Shaken by Alia’s decaying state of mind, Duncan reached out for her, gathering her into his arms gently. He could feel her tears through the black-and-green of his uniform, her head against his chest. Her breaths were shallow as she fought against the demons in her head.</p><p>Slowly, Alia released her hands from her ears and rested them against Duncan. “It hurts so much, love,” she whispered, a vulnerability, a smallness in her voice that made her sound younger than she usually let on. The very fact that Alia would loosen her composure in his presence was evidence to him that she still trusted him—still loved him. He could not help but wonder how long it would last. The facts could not be denied. Nothing lasted forever. Except, perhaps, the legend and effect of the Duke Paul Atreides.... Ah, but Muad'Dib had always been an exception.</p><p>“Pain passes,” he said softly, reminding himself that pain, too, was not eternal. He rubbed a hand gently up and down her back, his eyes closed as if he could absorb some of her suffering. He would have, if it had been possible.</p><p>“This one does not,” Alia replied, her voice trembling from sobs but firm in its declaration. “Mentat or not, my affliction is one you can never understand.”</p><p>“Perhaps not, Alia. But I love you. Is that not enough?” Duncan said, betraying a hint of pain in his voice at the distant coldness that was ingrained into the tones of her voice.</p><p>He held her closer and she felt a peace wash over her that she had not felt in days, weeks even. A near-silence internally that she had longed for and searched for in the worst of places but had failed to discover. The love that Duncan poured into his embrace forced the voices to the back of her mind, reducing them to background noise. She sighed with relief, burying her face in his uniform and wrapping her arms around him, clinging to the temporary solace of inner stillness. </p><p>“It is enough,” she said. And, for a precious instant, she believed it.</p><p>Duncan held her there for a long moment, his fingers unraveling the knots in her rich bronze hair, no longer golden from the light of the Arakeen sunset but a muted orange-yellow in the ghostly luminescence of the glowglobes. Alia reveled in the quietness in her mind and in the warmth and comfort of her husband’s embrace.</p><p>The Mentat pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a few falling locks of his black hair hiding her face from view. Alia allowed herself a rare smile, feeling safe for the first time in days, weeks, months even. She hadn’t realized she had been avoiding Duncan recently until now. Had she been hiding her pain from him, afraid to place some of it on his already-burdened shoulders?</p><p>“Love, I do not wish to burden you with the weakness of my affliction. I do not wish to cause you pain,” she whispered with deep sincerity.</p><p>“Oh, Alia, since when has it hurt me to hold you?” he replied, closing his eyes and permitting himself a small, somewhat sad smile.</p><p>Another moment of peace passed between them as stars began to make their appearance in the inky sky above the sand of Arrakis. Alia looked up at him now, her wide blue-on-blue eyes studying his features, finally able to reflect on her very own thoughts for a moment, finally separate from the many <em>others</em> whose voices had temporarily become white noise.</p><p>“Duncan, I am afraid. The Imperium begins to slip though my fingers like the sand and I have no control over anything, even myself. If Paul were here, he would—”</p><p>“Alia,” he interrupted softly but resolutely. “Umma tamut wa-umma tanbut. <em>‘One nation dies and another is born.’</em> Please don’t think of it now. Not now, when we have some precious time together.” He suppressed his calculating nature, the natural instinct programmed into him by the Tleilaxu, his tendency to exclude emotion from his thought process. Instead, he allowed himself to <em>feel</em>. To simply look into Alia’s eyes and smile because he loved her.</p><p>“But, Duncan, I—”</p><p>He pressed his lips to hers and she said no more, but closed her eyes and kissed him back. Alia was grateful for this moment. A moment of peace, a moment in which she could forget the worries that permeated her every day, her every waking hour. She could brood on her responsibilities tomorrow. The Regency. The Imperium. The twins. The angry voices in her head and the danger of Abomination, of <em>possession</em>. The blood to be spilled upon the sand. All that could wait. Right now it was just her and her beloved Duncan, and the glowglobes that turned them into shadows, silhouetted unto the wall of her Temple quarters.</p><p>Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps there <em>were</em> moments of peace, even for the pre-born. Even for an Abomination.</p><p>For this was a moment of peace.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading! This was my first time writing a Dune fanfic since mostly I write Star Wars fics. </p><p>If you enjoyed this one-shot and have any ideas or suggestions for future Dune fics, please let me know in the comments! I’d love to hear them!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>